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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536799">There's No Kingdom To Come</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnForeboding/pseuds/OnForeboding'>OnForeboding</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Sails, The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I will tag as I go along, Multi, The Old Guard AU, i guess?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536799</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnForeboding/pseuds/OnForeboding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an Old Guard AU y'all </p><p>Let's work through our issues, because we got nothing but time, baby.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. It's like destiny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Silver should be dead.</p><p>Silver <em> had </em>been dead. Flint had felt him return.</p><p>He rubbed his beard and stared at Silver’s restless sleeping form.</p><p>He could not wrap his head around it. Not only had another like him found his way into the Walrus but Flint had had no inkling of it.</p><p>This must be his first time, then.</p><p>Was Flint relieved? Elated? His natural state was always suspicion. He knew from the others that only warriors were ever chosen and Silver was most assuredly not that. Then again that could simply be one of the many lies he put forward. Regardless, Silver would be much more confused than him when he woke up. Flint had to consider what he would do then. He wondered if Silver had realised it yet, in his convalescent state.</p><p>Why wasn’t he healing then? It had been two days but the fever had only just broken tonight.</p><p>In fairness, Flint had never lost a full limb before, with the exception of his finger, once. It had grown back. Excruciatingly so.</p><p>Silver’s lower leg was not growing back. He had checked multiple times. It wasn’t even healing that quickly or that well. Was it this slow, in the beginning? He could no longer recall.</p><p>The others would be coming for him soon. Flint groaned. They could choose to just leave Flint to it as well, depending on their current engagements. This was not a preferable alternative.<br/>
Nevertheless, Silver could only prove to be even more useful going forward now and Flint could not disregard that.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Silver pulled the blanket off his left leg. “No, no, no, no, no... NO!” He unwrapped the bloodied bandages from his stump. He probed and prodded his wound, ignoring the once sickening wet sound of his flesh and gritting his teeth through the pain. Tears streamed down his face.</p><p>Pain was unpleasant, of course, but not new. The lack of his lower leg, on the other hand, was <em> very </em> new.</p><p>He had lost consciousness around the panicked thought that when he came to, he would be stuck on a ship at sea, surrounded by easily riled up, superstitious pirates, with a newly grown leg he had no reasonable way of explaining.</p><p>Now, he was truly afraid. The kind of fear he hadn’t felt in many, many years. How could this have happened? How could he be done? It had been, what, two hundred years? Andy was thousands of years old! He could not be up so soon.</p><p>Wait, he had returned. The fog in his brain was slowly clearing. He <em> had </em>returned. He also remembered feeling the bright ember of the presence of another in his mind, someone he could not single out, at the very edge of his cognisance. This in itself was not unusual. They were all of them connected.</p><p>Excluding this uncommon outlier, it was identical to the other times—the deep suffocating darkness and the familiar nausea permeated by the relief of returning from it.</p><p>Why wasn’t he healing, then? Should he have not come back? Was the presence meant to replace him?</p><p>Should Silver be dead?</p><p> </p><p>Andy looked across the tavern table at Nicky and Joe. Joe raised his eyebrow. Nicky smiled, knowingly.</p><p>Well, that was intriguing.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello? Check, one, two. Is this still on? Anyone out here? </p><p>Thank you for reading, don't forget to tip your waitress.</p><p>As always and forever, final proof by <a href="http://linzorz.tumblr.com">Linz</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. This isn’t real. No, none of this is real.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Out of habit, Flint opened the door to his cabin without knocking but was swiftly reminded of his temporary guest. On his window perch, Silver scrambled to cover himself with a blanket. </p><p>Flint opened his mouth to apologise but frowned. Silver was naked but he hadn’t been shy about that thus far; no doubt a combination of his natural impudence and convalescent state.</p><p>They stared at each other for a brief moment.</p><p>Flint considered the possibility of Silver having been engaged in some basic self-relief but he looked... wrong for that. He didn’t know how or why he knew that but he did. (Sometimes, he could see it in his mind’s eye, as clear as the sandy bottom of a limpid sea: flushed, dewy cheeks, half-open and wet bite-swollen lips, hooded eyes, brushing eyelashes, rosy ear tips…)</p><p>Silver smiled tentatively, clutching the blanket around his waist, knees raised. </p><p>Flint grunted in acknowledgement and moved toward the centerpiece of the cabin, his broad mahogany desk. Just as he was about to get there he pivoted and snatched the blanket off Silver.</p><p>“No!” Silver yelled, unable to do much more to hide the dagger sticking out of his good leg, bleeding profusely.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?” Flint shouted, kneeling on the floor and reaching for the dagger.</p><p>“Don’t touch me!” </p><p>Flint ignored him and tried to figure out the least painful way to remove the dagger. Silver reached for him but Flint was considerably stronger and shoved him back on the makeshift bed. </p><p>“Stay still,” Flint growled. He pulled the blade out slowly while Silver groaned through his teeth. Flint grabbed one of the clean rags Howell normally used on the stump and pressed it against the wound. He locked eyes with Silver.<br/>He was breathing quickly but apart from that he was, for once, still. No, not still. Defeated. </p><p>Flint pursed his lips and shook his head at him, sighing. </p><p>They had been dancing around each other for weeks now, trying to find out how much the other knew without showing their own hand. It was an amusing if time limited game of chess. Did Silver do this on purpose to trip him up? Seemed unlikely, given Silver’s alleged low tolerance for pain. It made him wonder if, during however many years Silver had been alive, he had managed to get by with minimal damage. It wouldn’t surprise him.</p><p>Flint made to remove the rag but Silver grabbed his hand and kept it in place. They both knew what was coming but it was a protective instinct Flint understood well, born of hiding your true nature for a long time. Ordinary people reacted unpredictably to this part.</p><p>He also knew that both of them feared how everything would change once this was truly out in the open between them. They would be unbearably tethered, for better or worse, and neither of them was particularly thrilled about the prospect of facing this new reality. They would no longer be “just” Captain Flint and John Silver. They would become multitudes. Many faced diamonds under an eternal light.</p><p>Flint squeezed Silver’s thigh briefly and slid the rag back slowly. It felt intimate and tender, just like the freshly closed skin on Silver’s thigh. <em> He was testing his healing. </em> How many times had he done this over the last few weeks? </p><p>Despite himself, Flint reached out with his other hand. In the periphery of his vision, Silver’s stomach contracted, as he held his breath. Flint ran his thumb over the new skin and old blood, felt the emerging goosebumps. Pristine. Just like everything else in Silver’s body. Except... He frowned, eyes shifting to the mangled knee.</p><p>Silver pulled the blanket over both his legs and turned away from Flint, breaking the spell. Flint stood up and tossed the bloody rag on the floor. He was going mad. He walked toward the desk and slumped on his plush leather chair.<br/>Silver stared out the window, a tear running down the side of his face Flint could see. The sun was setting, which made for a harsh light over the ocean, but still he looked on.</p><p>“Why is this happening?” Silver half whispered.</p><p>Flint took a deep breath to quash an insistent tug at his core to comfort Silver. </p><p>“I don’t know. I promise you. I’ve never seen this before...” Flint stared at his own lap, hands fidgeting. “Frankly, I’ve never lost a limb. Only a finger. This could perhaps explain it.”</p><p>“I have. They always grew back. My heart even, once.”</p><p>Flint stopped turning the rings on his right hand and stared at Silver. Not minimal. He managed to swallow the urge to ask how. When? With whom? How does it feel truly losing your heart? </p><p>“Do you think I’m being punished?”</p><p>“What?” Flint snapped back, suddenly angry. </p><p>Silver finally turned to look at him. The tears made his eyes bright and vivid. He looked unbearably young.</p><p>“By whoever granted us this boon in the first place.”</p><p>Flint frowned. “You think this is a boon?” </p><p>“You don’t?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello? Check, one, two. Is this still on? Anyone out here? </p><p>Thank you for reading, don't forget to tip your waitress.</p><p>As always and forever, final proof by <a href="http://linzorz.tumblr.com">Linz</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Just a baby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Silver breathed out through his nose while he slowly pulled the boot up his remaining lower leg. He was used to quick pain, but this prolonged torture reminded him of the time he had to live through his heart regeneration — a slow and excruciating grind, which made him wish he’d outright died to begin with. The stump was healing much quicker now, taking on all manner of newly grotesque scar arrangements every time it closed. But it would invariably re-open whenever he put any strain on it. ‘Why was this fucking happening?’ was the only constant in Silver’s brain beyond the pain. Was the loss of his leg not enough? Why was he being forced to endure this as well? What the FUCK!</p><p>Silver closed his eyes, ground his teeth and took a deep breath. </p><p>As if the compounding of suffering mattered. As if there was some tally out there for them all. Silver had long accepted the world was devoid of any meaning or guiding hand.</p><p>“Why?” What an utterly useless question. Yet, now it plagued every agonising step he took. In his weakest moments, in the throes of feverish delirium, he’d review the last couple of centuries, cataloguing every evil deed or conceivable sin that could have led to this. Theft? Deceit? Cruelty? Murder? Torture?</p><p>The deeper the pain, the more certainty he was being punished. By whom or what was beyond the realm of concern for him. He could solve that no more than he could solve his leg. What he needed to find out was what he’d done to trigger it, so he could avoid doing it again. He was nothing if not a practical creature. Only an imbecile wouldn’t learn from experience.</p><p>He shoved his leg in the boot and cursed loudly rather than cry.</p><p>Only an imbecile would imagine he could unravel the mysteries of some inconceivable condition. He was starting to gain an acute understanding of why people chose to believe in some universal caretaker, if only so they could have someone to appease.</p><p>Imbecile. Imbecile. Imbe—</p><p>“There you are.”</p><p>Silver managed to contain his startle and continued strapping the boot, grateful for the curtain of hair shading his face from Flint. “Where else would I be?”</p><p>Flint took a few steps forward, undaunted. “Not here. Normally, you’d be doing this in the cabin.”</p><p>“The men are all up on deck celebrating the last prize.” Silver got up but turned his back to Flint, busying himself with tying and retying his hair.</p><p>Despite his intent wishing, Flint was not magically disappearing.</p><p>”There are things we must discuss.” Flint moved closer and sat down on the box Silver had just vacated. “There is no more belaying. I’m sure you have questions as well.”</p><p>Silver turned finally, his eyes focusing on Flint’s form in the barely-there light of the hold. He sat just as he had seen him do so many times before: hunched over his broad thighs, overcommitted to the twirling of his rings.</p><p>At first, Silver had thought it uneasiness. With time, he’d come to understand it better: it was as much of a battle pose as when Flint was out there with a sword in his hand. Flint had come to <em> take</em>. </p><p>Silver was not in a giving mood. He did not want to face this, face him, face the questions. Pretend to want to lose. Not to mention, keep committed to the other useful fiction between them: that he <em> had </em> lost, when truthfully he had been the one that materialized the treasure currently propping up Nassau’s grandest dreams; when he had thought he would be halfway across the world by now, enjoying the fruits of his delicate labour, with both his legs.<br/>Hadn’t he lost then? </p><p>He could not bring himself to yield to Flint tonight. This was part of the reason why he had stashed himself away in the hold. </p><p>He took a deep breath, pulled a bottle of rum from one of the boxes of their newly acquired loot, and sat across from the Captain. He took a swig and passed the bottle to Flint. “How long have you known?”</p><p>“Ten years,” Flint answered, no hesitation, before drinking himself.</p><p>Silver’s eyebrows shot up. Flint had seemed so fucking <em>primordial</em> the first time Silver had seen him, that when he’d discovered they were the same, it had made perfect sense to him. He remembered feeling something similar when he’d met Andy. Learning that Flint was exactly as old as, well, however old he was, was possibly the most shocking piece of information regarding the Captain so far. He felt ancient to Silver, like a long standing oak tree, solid but bent by countless seasons. But that was Andy, not Flint. Flint was… a youngling. Younger than <em>all </em>of them. And yet, Silver felt so diminished in his presence still.</p><p>Flint shot Silver an expectant eyebrow and Silver remembered he was to answer in kind. <em> Oh god, he had to answer. </em>Silver let his mouth be momentarily occupied by rum.</p><p>“Two hundred years,” he finally said, after a longer-than-needed swallow.</p><p>“What?” It was Flint’s turn to look shocked.</p><p>Silver couldn’t help smiling back sheepishly, overcome by the knee-jerk feeling of having somehow committed a slight against Flint, by daring to be in the world for so much longer than him. </p><p>Flint’s expression started to change, though, and Silver drank in its movements. His face always looked so open and raw to Silver, reading him had become second nature. He saw it go from confusion to aggravation, maybe even fear, and land with one last deep exhale on a dangerously calculating sort of awe. Silver’s smile changed too, growing bold and confident, and he felt as if his shadow had grown in the room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello? Check, one, two. Is this still on? Anyone out here? </p><p>Thank you for reading, don't forget to tip your waitress.</p><p>As always and forever, final proof by <a href="http://linzorz.tumblr.com">Linz</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The world isn’t getting any better. It’s getting worse.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once Flint had discovered Silver’s real age, things had settled between them into a kind of uneasy compromise. The men had chosen Silver for Quartermaster, after all. Flint knew Silver had stolen the treasure from under him but chose to take that knowledge and crystalize it into barely concealed spite for every other decision Silver made up on deck. It felt rather reminiscent of Silver’s time at a few of the homes for boys: petty but dangerous all the same.</p><p>They were raiding up and down the coast every opportunity they had. And from what the crew reported back at the end of their ever bloodier incursions, Flint seemed to be trying his very best to get killed. <br/>Silver obviously knew Flint was highly unlikely to die in any of their raids, but found the Captain’s relish for suicidal masochism... concerning. The men were bound to catch on, if he kept getting himself mortally wounded. Then again, they already thought he was blessed by a witch with immortality. But only Silver knew how many times Flint had actually died in those raids. For some god forsaken reason, he felt it in his gut every goddamn time. The feeling was akin to the sudden pit under your chest just as the sensation of falling hit you; like something had been pulled out from under you.</p><p>The first time it had happened, it had been so acute Silver had lost his footing going down the stairs, still somewhat unsteady on the boot, and hit his head on one of the steps. The big gash over his right eyebrow would’ve required bloody stitches, had it not closed in the next few minutes.<br/>The proximity probably had something to do with it. He wondered if that’s how it felt to the others when they were together. He’d never experienced their death before; had never stuck around long enough for it. Never been the joiner type.</p><p>Silver stared across the dark ocean, at the raging fire illuminating the land behind the oncoming skiffs and sighed. He felt a headache coming on. <br/>He would have to discuss this with the Captain.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The conversation went about as well as Silver had expected. He explained his reasonable concerns and Flint postured and dictated with a finality Silver was finding increasingly hard to stomach. He thought it fitting to remind Flint of both their places on the crew and what each of them entailed. There was no captain without a crew, and Silver <em> was </em>the crew. The threat felt sharp enough that Silver chose to hedge his bets and quickly temper it with empathy.<br/>Truthfully, there was always within him an undercurrent of pity for Flint which nothing seemed to quash, no matter how intolerable the other man became. </p><p>“I understand this is all incredibly personal to you, after the loss of Mrs. Barlow...” Silver started.</p><p>“Now, wait a minute…” Flint moved toward him. </p><p>“And I understand the burden of playing the role you currently play must be taking a toll even you cannot fully comprehend.” </p><p>Flint covered the distance between them in one step. “Stop.” </p><p>Silver held his breath, entranced. Up close Flint looked dead already—face pale and gaunt, sunken hollow eyes, lips thin and discoloured. <br/>He knew what this was. He remembered feeling it once. </p><p>“Now you have wormed your way into the heads of the men out there,” Flint said.</p><p>He could not die and it was killing him.</p><p>“And they've granted you authority over them because of it.” Flint grimaced. “But in my head...”</p><p>Silver felt himself waiver, minutely, towards the maelstrom.</p><p>He wanted to hurt him.</p><p>He wanted to kiss him.</p><p>“...you are not welcome.”</p><p>He wanted to kill him.</p><p>He wanted to save him.</p><p>He wanted so badly.</p><p>He could no more comprehend it than he could control it.</p><p>“I am already in your head, that much is clear to me. I have been in many heads like yours, before.”</p><p>Flint recoiled, his face a mix of revulsion and… yes, there it was, <em>fear</em>.</p><p>Silver let those words linger in the air for a moment, fascinated with watching Flint grapple with their meaning.<br/>Who am I in there? What terrors do you see when you look at me? </p><p>“Every time you go ashore there is a risk of them discovering your true nature. <em> Our </em> true nature,” Silver said. “You <em> know </em> I can feel it every time you die.”</p><p>Flint frowned and moved to speak but Silver continued, emboldened.</p><p>“I know how many times it has happened. And I can see now how much you must’ve hated coming back, every... single... time,” Silver spat.</p><p>He turned and moved slowly toward the door, daring the Captain to speak with each step. He opened the cabin door. </p><p>“I don’t wish to be in your head anymore than you want me in it.” His back was turned to Flint. “But I am. And let me assure you, I <em> see </em> you,” he finished, before closing the door behind him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I guess this is still happening! XD</p><p>Thank you for reading, don't forget to tip your waitress.</p><p>As always and forever, final proof by <a href="http://linzorz.tumblr.com">Linz</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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